Beanies on the Equator...

“Just do your best, it doesn’t matter. You won’t come last.”

Everyone had finished the race and I was still half way down the oval, readjusting my sports skirt so it wouldn’t fall off. Pushing my legs so fast, my five-year-old freckles nearly burst off my face. I wasn’t just last. I was dead last.

My mother will attest to the fact I was never much of a sprinter. I was no faster at the school sports than I was going through the shower or putting my tights on in the morning. But from the age of five, I was determined to find a way not to come last again.

By late high school, I had worked out that if I run for long enough, the others would eventually conk out.  That’s the only strategy I had then, and the only one I have now. Fast twitch muscles and leg length are not on my side. 

In 2008 I was going through a bit of a rough patch, and jogging wasn’t high on my priority list. But then I met two people who changed my attitude to running, and in essence, my outlook on life.

I have never known anyone to be as excited about a drop of water on a tin roof as Mark Wilgar. Or sunshine. Or any incremental change in temperature. So when there is a dust storm brewing, or an impending minor flood event, this weatherman is positively peaking. And don’t even start me on long-range records and weather pattern statistics. Mark is a husband, father and all-round enthusiast. He and his wife Karen take their kids to the swimming pool, on treasure hunts through Vanuatu, outback orienteering, birdwatching or paddling kayaks in the jungle just like someone else takes eggs for breakfast. It’s hard to find Mark without a smile on his face and runners on his feet. I was reporting in Mildura, in the north-west corner of Victoria, when I went for a trip out to the weather station to interview Mark about the running event he was organising. Suddenly, I was signed up to the Mallee12. I’m not sure how he convinced me I could run 12 kilometres, but I suddenly believed it was possible.

I couldn’t walk so well the day the after the event.  But in my elated “I did it!” state, I signed up for another fun run. And then another…

In the course of chatting to people at the back end of the race, I also reconnected with an old friend of the family. Peter Mills competed for Australia in duathlon events and has been running a small gym which I think can safely boast being host to the funnest Spin classes in the world. How can you go wrong with 70-year-olds in lycra, Britney Spears tracks and a disco ball? He has trained many a group for Great Victorian Bike Rides and has managed to convince 60-somethings to take up cycling. The man is magic. He is not doing a lot of cycling at the moment as his battle with cancer is pushing him in the direction of a Harley, but that is not before he inspired me with his enthusiasm, his fun attitude to cycling and to just “having a go” and having a great time in life.

I never thought I'd be able to do a triathlon. I was not a fast runner, I could barely make it to the end of the swimming pool, and I was terrified of hopping on one of those skinny road bikes where you have to stick your feet in the pedals (let alone inflicting my lycra-clad physique on the world!).

But again, people like Mark Wilgar and Peter Mills seem to have this affect on me which finds me in an Australian representive tri-suit, trotting comfortably over the finish line!

Okay, so the Australia suit wasn’t mine – it was Millsy’s. And I was coming last in it. And he had also lent me his wetsuit, his favourite bike, and a spare tyre tube (which I still don't know what to do with)!

Since then, I have completed four triathlons, one Olympic distance triathlon, one half ironman and eight fun runs. I have run in the outback, cycled up mountains in Italy, jogged through the side-alleys of Tokyo, put sneaker to bitumen under a full moon on the Great Ocean Road, and been swimming in waters including the muddy Murray and the crystal blue northern Queensland.

And now I have my running shoes in Uganda.

You may remember me writing about the challenges of running here: boda drivers asking for your phone number, hundreds of people yelling out “Mzungu”, the mixture of confused / thoroughly amused / not at all amused faces of the women, and hoards of children running around your feet. Not to mention the fact that people don’t seem to like any form of dirt on your shoes… which means my sneakers are constantly wet as the women keep taking them to soak and scrub them after every use. Things started to become a little easier when Valence pulled out his joggers, even if we were a little slow. At least they started laughing at him more than they did me. I am told people only run in Uganda if they are trying to catch a taxi or run from the tax man. But when Valence’s “I really love walking” comments began to increase, I began to feel that perhaps this wasn’t his physical exertion of choice. He thinks it is giving him chest pains he insists is a heart strain, and other injuries. It has been pointed out to him that his heart is not actually in the centre of his chest and that the pains he is having may be indicative of anxiety. He assures me he has absolutely nothing to be anxious about in life.  I have also suggested the running could also be blamed for any eyelash losses he has had recently, but he assures me this is not the case.

Running is not for everyone, and some people will gain much more from walking.

But I found another victim. Doreen’s brother Dickson. And I think he is hooked on the crack of running endorphins. He still won’t run in shorts (always long pants), but his long legs have quickly started overtaking mine on our bi-weekly trots through the region’s tropical flowers and shady banana leaves. Thankfully for me, I have the pity of the locals on my side. They look at my skin colour, look at my gender, look at the length of my legs and just start waving their hoes about and cheering desperately for me from the sugar cane. It’s enough to ensure I can at least beat Dickson on the home run.

Merely registering for the Nile Marathon was an adventure in itself. First of all, there is no ‘marathon’. It is a half marathon. Then, when you go to the website to register online and find out more information, the website doesn’t actually exist. But at least if there is a website on the poster, then the whole event looks organised, right?

There were only a few locations we could register, and it meant a two hour return trip in a very squashy taxi bus. I dragged my poor friend Erin and her luggage around Jinja trying to find the registration point. Eventually, we found the event office at a service station. And were told the person who does the registrations was not around. After much coaxing, we were directed to another location. And then another, before we finally received some information. Registrations had closed. It was a week before the charity run, and even though their registration numbers were low, they apparently weren’t taking any more. I asked where on the poster there were details about the deadline for registration, and as it turns out… there weren’t any. “But didn’t you hear our announcements on the radio?”. No, no I did not. I do not even have a radio. Thankfully Ugandans are very friendly, and took my money and wrote our names on the back of a scrap piece of paper.

There were no ‘gear tents’ at the event, but there was an excellent stage and speakers. Music before Management in Uganda. Available pre-race nutrition was samosas, chapatti or cake. And even though it would have been a miracle if the race started on time, for some reason, we still all expected it.

First there was just a 10 minute delay for no apparent reason. Then they needed to call some kind of electrical specialist to come flying in on his white boda and save the day because the timing chip mat –belt thingy wasn’t working. Then it was “when we fire the gun, DO NOT RUN… I repeat DO NOT RUN, when we fire the gun. We need to test the gun is working”. Never mind the microphone is working and they could just say “run!”.

Every 21 kilometres of pleasure and pain was worth it. I was conscious of every breath as the sun came up over Lake Victoria down below. I was every part grateful for those Ugandans who were prepared to hold back their finishing time just for the opportunity to run with you for an hour or so, to connect and cross the finish line together. My heart was full of encouragement and hopeful momentum for the soccer player who had been training for just two weeks to give this event a go. My laughter was uncontrollable when at the half-way mark, a chapatti maker cheered me on with: “Go, go, go, faster, faster! You can finish! And then you come back and buy my chapatti!!”. I had my cheeky face on when young guys would come and run alongside me, and puff their chests out, have a casual chat, and then be left in the dust when I would sprint past them in front of everyone, leaving their audience rolling around in stitches of laughter at the mzungu girl who had left them behind. And my heart melted when I heard from the sideline: “Go my daughter, my daughter, go, go, go!”.

And when it really hurt, and when I wondered if I was going to have to walk it home, and if I could even do that….I thought of the beanie in my luggage at the hotel. It was my green Mallee12 beanie and it had arrived in Kampala two days before the race. It was the only mail I had received in Uganda thus far. Mark had gone to the trouble of sending me the M12 beanie so I could take a photo of myself in it and send back to him. It made me think of the people in his life who were facing challenges at the moment. And it made me think of Millsy. I know it is cliché, but I am not sure how else to describe what went through my mind. I know how much Millsy has fought, and I can’t even begin to imagine what pain his body has been through. But I know he is still here, inspiring every person he meets because he understands that even if you can’t control external influences - such as the way other people behave or what is happening to your body or the world around you – you can control yourself. And no matter how much pain he is in, this man always has a word of encouragement, a disco ball to Spin to, a laugh to share, or a daggy joke to contribute. He reminds me that even when it is hurting like hell, you can always laugh at yourself, and that it is just as much fun to come last, as it is first. 

One of my other favourite moments of the weekend was when I finished the half marathon and found Dickson. He had finished his 10km event and was on top of the world. I have been very blessed to have at least one special person slow down their training to run with me. And now I understand a little part of why that is. The reward of beating your time can never compare to the reward you receive from sharing something which makes you happy, with someone else. To watching someone else discover those endorphins. To learning about someone and from someone, and to building friendship.

I completed the 21 kilometre race and have these particular thanks to offer to four phenomenal human beings (not in order of appearance).

1. Mark Wilgar: For sucking me in in the first place.
2. Millsy: For being you, for laughing at me in your ‘Australia’ suit, and for taking photos of me on the finish line. 
3. Dickson: For waiting for me when I slept in. I still owe you that ice-cream truck... 
4. Arron: For running with me, for slowing down my jogs by making me laugh too much, and for teaching the importance of chatting while trotting. You are patient, inspiring and beautiful. x 
5. Scopes (who recently SMASHED her first marathon): For reminding me about the value of friendship and chocolate. Thankyou. Am so proud of you xox

Running on grasshoppers

Hello from Uganda!

I have written a good half of this letter in the dark under a mosquito net in my room, and another chunk with a cup of super sweet African tea under the sunshine, which is dodging and ducking through bright tropical flowers and banana leaves so it can reach me and give me yet another patch of new freckles!

The last couple of weeks have been a learning curve in all aspects of the phrase. I guess travelling is a little like “life condensed”. You can have some of the worst experiences of your life one day, the best the next day, the most shocking in the same day… and come out of it new and different and fulfilled no matter what. I am sure most of you know that feeling!

The last group of volunteers left (and left behind a big hole, but lots of nice clothes) and Erin and I had a week or so with Doreen, Valence and the kids to ourselves. And now there is a group of 13 girls here! They are from a university in the US where Valence went to speak a number of years ago. The university has since been sending a group of students each year. They are aged between 19 and 24 and are studying everything from health promotion and nutrition, to global development and teaching. They are building some new school classrooms in the village Valence grew up in. The village is called Kitoola (KIT-OHL-LAH). I haven’t had as much time to engage with this group as the other group, but it has been amazing to watch them talk at the end of the day. They are a gorgeous bunch of girls and they sit around over dinner and talk about the day’s highlights. Apart from noticing how well they listen to each other and take it in terms to speak, I am so impressed by the way they tease out how each experience made them feel, what it made them think, what it made them reconsider about their own lives, what they wish they could change about the world. And most of all, they ask questions. What does this mean? What is the rate of prevalence of this? Is it normal for women to have to go through this? They have had such a great time connecting with the kids at the school and have been blown away by the juxtaposition of a young man who has almost no concept of the internet or what snow is, who has no parents, lives on less than $2 a day, has run out of school books, but is working super hard in class, telling them he wants to be a pilot. They are still staggered by the fact six-year-old children have to walk two kilometres just to get a jerry can of water, and do so with a smile on their faces! They have said they are going to be very harsh babysitters when they go home. Quote: “Put the ipad down, stop your whingeing and go and get your own juice, you little brat!”.  It is all relative and situational though and I know they were joking. It all sounds very much like the cliché ‘African experience’… but it is a true picture of people’s lives, it is the reality of what is happening in so many parts of the world, and it would be a strange person who would come here and not be blown away by it. This is just how people live. They are mostly happy. And it’s because they don’t know anything else. There is certainly a debate there about the need to educate people about their human rights and the need for more equality in the world, versus the risk of disturbing people’s happiness through a ‘we know better’ approach. 

Doreen is so rapt with her oven. I am not sure if I mentioned in my last email, but Ralph and Selma (the two Australian volunteers from the last group) pitched in $500 between them and asked me to go and find an oven for Doreen. She absolutely loves it. She can have four pots and pans going at the same time, doesn’t have to keep changing the coal over, doesn’t have to worry about Beth and Jo sticking their hands in the fire or knocking boiling kettles and saucepans off the claypots! She is cooking three meals a day for 20 people at the moment and is now wondering how she ever survived without the oven. Her only concern is that she is becoming spoilt : )   One of the main reasons people don’t have appliances is that it is too expensive to run the power. And there may come a time when Doreen and Valence can’t afford to use the oven. Some people are only able to afford to use such appliances because of the small benefits of living in a country where the systems which are put in place to make things ‘efficient’ don’t really work. For example, you can bribe the guy who comes to record the electricity meter with $5, and he will record a different number…    

Speaking of cooking…. I was reminded of a certain locust pizza and some locust cooking at the Ouyen hospital yesterday (Aunty Sue, Aunty Gayle/Uncle Tony, Gran and anyone in Mildura will know what I’m talking about here…). Doreen whipped me up her favourite snack! I came home to find her in the kitchen and she was telling me she had bought me a special treat. I was guessing and guessing… avocado, pineapple, jackfruit? She said it was a snack and it was crunchy. Did she find macademias??! No such luck. Some other kind of nut? Nope. And then she pulls out two plastic bags with jumping green things in them. GRASSHOPPERS!! A few hours later and they weren’t jumping so much any more. Except for into my mouth! Salty little crunchy things! Kind of like fries… kind of! But I took my revenge by offereing to make her breakfast in the morning. She didn’t know what was happening when she bit into her ginger-spiced omelette and found herself nibbling on a grasshopper leg!

On the downside, I have started wearing around a ring on my wedding finger and have learnt how to say “I am married” in Luganda. Not that it really seems to matter if people think you are married. Monogamy is not such a big deal here. I have had a couple of experiences which weren’t so great, and a friend of mine had a couple of uncomfortable encounters. It’s an interesting lesson in questioning why we do things the way we do them, why we value monogamy so much, in the way people ‘flirt’, in the way body language can actually mean such different things in different places, and in not judging people just because they live their lives in a way you had previously considered to only be for those intent on exploiting and being disprespectful. 

This is not an example of one of the bad experiences, but just an encounter I had which might shed some light on the perspectives I'm talking about:

I had lunch with a man who is heavily involved and respected in Uganda's arts and civil rights scenes. He very casually talked about how many wives he hopes to have. His father had seven wives. His grandfather had 17. His current wife, who he has two children with, is not really his ‘wife’. She is only his wife in the traditional tribal sense, and the mother of his first two children. She will not become his 'real' wife until he pays for her and they have a proper church wedding. Payment can range from anything like a few cows, to half a dozen sports cars. But this man doesn’t think he will make this woman his 'real' wife. And then he talked about how he would like to breed with a mzungu (white) woman, because apparently white women have good ‘genes’. You see, there are many reasons why a man needs to seek several wives (apparently). For example, the one who is good looking might not be very well educated, and the one who is well educated might not have very much money etc etc. And then he asked if I was married. And then offered to take me on a research trip to Western Uganda for the night. I'm sure his intentions were genuine, but politely declined.

Polygamy is legal in Uganda, which is one of the reasons most families tend to have an abundance of children. Although the country is predominantly Christian and thereby favours monogamous marriages, the traditional culture has not died out and it is one of the few Christian nations in the world to recognise polygamous unions. This is certainly a challenge to HIV prevention, with up to 80 per cent of rural women saying their husbands have multiple partners. And although Ugandan wives are expected to be faithful to their husbands (and also expected to give him what he wants, because he paid for it after all), some women also have extra marital affairs because they want to take revenge on their husbands. Also, women who are in polygamous marriages are often targeted by other men, who believe it is okay to try and have sex with them because those women are “used to sharing a man”.

In 2005, more than 1000 Muslims rallied against a proposed bill that would require a husband to seek permission from his first wife before marrying any more women. The bill died. In 2010, polygamy was again challenged in the constitutional court by a group of women who attempted to overhaul the polygamous culture through a petition to court. But a group of Muslim women blocked the bill.

I think if Ugandan women want to change the status quo and fight polygamy in the constitution then it is a good thing. Particularly when it is putting their health and life at risk. But I’m also trying to keep in mind it is not for me to judge any man who is entering into polygamous domestic arrangements, when that is what he has grown up with, and that is what he has been taught as not only perfectly acceptable – but ideal. Arron has been revisiting The Alchemist today, on the train from Bassano to Venice, in Italy. One of the quotes he picked out was: 

“Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives but none about his or her own”. 

It’s a good one to keep in mind when in another country, and particularly when working in development. As much as you think you might have the best idea about how to do things, but often our own lives need serious examination.

On a lighter traveller’s note, I had a beautiful mini-overnight-getaway last weekend. Erin (the other volunteer working in health promotion who is here for another three weeks) organised a night away for her birthday. So Erin, three of her friends and I trekked off to an island near Jinja for a night. It is such a bizarre feeling to be on an island, in a landlocked African country. But just for some perspective – the width of Lake Victoria is about the distance from Melbourne to Horsham.

The trip there was a bit hairy… it was bucketing down rain and I was skooting along in a taxi bus in the mud! At one point, when I couldn't see out the window, and we were sliding around on the skinny muddy road, I actually started envisioning how I would climb out of the taxi if it rolled over. Despite the rain, I wound down the window so I knew I'd have somewhere to climb out of! 

It was a bit of a hike – a taxi bus (matatu) from Kampala to Lugazi, a boda to the house in Lugazi to repack, a matatu to Jinja, a boda in Jinja to the next matatu, another matatu to another town, a boda… and then a canoe! I think the guy paddling our canoe was very used to visitors. He didn’t have a shirt on, had ridiculously large muscles, was splashing around in the water when I arrived, and offered to have his photo taken. Very cheeky. I told him I was trying to take a photo of the monkey in the tree behind him.

The island itself was absolutely stunning. It is called the Hairy Lemon and it has been operating for about 10-12 years. The guy who is running it at the moment is called Paul and he is a South African. The only people on the island are the people staying at the resort, and while we were there there was only one other couple, and the people who work at the resort. The other couple was a girl who is on Britain’s national rafting team, and her boyfriend was Britain’s national rafting coach. They spend about three or four months of the year on the island, training, doing yoga, and just clearing their heads. They also do some work from the island. For most of the year they are travelling around the world, running kayaking trips and training. They are so sought after that they just travel anywhere they want to raft, and people fly in from all over the world to train with them. Many of the people who stay at the island do so for a few months, and they are quite regular visitors. Paul has been running the island for about two years, and took over its operation from a friend. The island has basically been passed around through a group of friends. Before he ran the Hairy Lemon, Paul lived in the jungle in Tanzania. Yep, I met my very own Bear Grylls! He literally walks around the island with a machete, cutting new walking sticks, trying to trim the invasive plants, and catching fish from the Nile. He is a competitive Frisbee player and I also found him doing a bit of a gym session – he was bench pressing a big log, and doing bicep curls and deadlifts with massive rocks. When he showed me what he was doing, he was telling me how I needed to ‘befriend’ the rock. Before he lived in the jungle, he sailed around on the ocean by himself for about five years. Surprisingly, his social skills are very good for someone who has been intentionally isolating themselves for so long! The island was full of monkeys and the sound of the Nile running over the rocks. There were bright tropical flowers everywhere, and it seemed you could actually smell the sunshine. I sat myself in a red-cushioned cane chair on the porch of my banda, which overlooked a waterfall, and wrote and wrote and wrote for hours. The food was also beautiful and fresh, and a nice change from matooke, potatoes and cornmeal. Was exactly what I needed at the time. Was very indulgent, and at $30 (including my food and Frisbee lesson), absolutely worth it.

On the way back, we couldn't find a boda and had been walking for a long time in the sun. So when a white water rafting tour bus came meandering past, we were very happy it responded to our 'hail' signal. We did wonder for a moment if it was a 'bus mirage', but once we were one the 'Ugandan massage' (apparently bumping along in a bus on a terrible quality road is supposed to be a bit like a massage. I'd dispute the claim, but I don't want to be impolite) we knew we were really on it. And then we heard a big smash!! One of the children on the side of the road had thrown a rock at the bus and it hit the window. Thankfully Erin's friend had just moved seats a few minutes earlier or he might have been injured. The window shattered rather than broke, and the rock didn't come in the bus. So no one was injured except for a girl who got a tiny bit of glass in her eye. The bigger problem was really, how to deal with the kids. As soon as the driver realised what had happened, the breaks went on and the bus went reversing backwards. I looked back and saw the look of terror on the culprit's face, her big eyes nearly swallowing her head before she went sprinting into the jungle. Another terrified child pointed in the direction she ran in, because he was worried he was going to be punished instead. A Lugandan guy on the bus ran like lightning after her, and brought her back through the jungle with his hand gripped tightly on her arm. She was only about nine-years-old and was wearing a purple school dress with a big collar. Two purple school-dressed girls were now on the bus with us and the one with the big eyes was pleading with me in Luganda, with tears coming down her face. I couldn't understand a word she was saying. We drove into the closest village and the girls were taken to the police station. Apparently the bus driver needed to make a report, for insurance purposes. I couldn't believe everyone was just making plans for the rafting trip while these two girls were being locked in a police cell. Some of us went into the station to see what was going to happen to them and if we could just pay for the cost of the window. I think a few of the rafting tourists started to twig that perhaps things didn't work in Uganda the same way they do at home...  I still don't know what happened to those girls. The police assured us the girls would only be kept in overnight, and someone from the community said they would not be hurt by the police. Apparently their parents would be called and then the community would deal with them in the traditional way. I don't know what this means, but I expect it means they will have received a decent hiding. The main problem is that even if the insurance paid for the cost of the window, or if we had paid for the cost of the window, the police would have kept the money, and still asked the parents to pay. Which probably would have meant the cost of half their wage for the year. It may have meant the cost of sending the girls to school. 

It’s Saturday and I am off to Jinja today. We were supposed to leave about lunch time, but it is now 6pm. It’s definitely a case of Africa time. I am just waiting for Doreen’s brother Dickson, who is coming with me. I am assuming he is late because he has been running around Kampala trying to find some medication for Rose’s mother. Rose is the woman who helps at the house every day with the cleaning and cooking. Her mother has a benign thyroid nodule, and also chronic sinusitis at the moment… but has also been having really bad headaches and keeps passing out. Rose and Doreen are really worried she has a brain tumour, but I’m not sure what the likelihood of that is. But the fact is, that if she had any form of cancer, she would die reasonably quickly. There is not really enough medication in the country to treat cancer, and even if there was, no one could afford it. Children with leukaemia just pass away. Erin is actually looking at doing a pHD on this issue. Cancer is something which isn’t given anywhere near as much support from the international community. Funnily enough, even though HIV/AIDS and malaria are massive problems here… if you contracted either of them in Uganda, you are probably in one of the best places in the (developing) world in terms of being looked after. So many resources have been injected into the problem and it is very easy to track down tests, medication and other treatment.

So the reason Dickson is running around looking for this medication is because I spent about eight hours looking for it yesterday. It’s a very basic medication, but as it is not one that people ask for every day, the pharmacists just don’t stock it. I went to every pharmacy in Lugazi and then spent four hours on public transport to go to Kampala to look for it. I took a boda all over Kampala to different pharmacies to try and find it, but no one had it. It was an interesting little window into health care in Uganda. The only reason Rose’s mother has any chance of getting this medication is because her daughter works for Doreen and Valence. It meant I could give Rose money for the medication (which wasn’t much at all. But too much for Rose), and Doreen’s brother Dickson can find it…because he happens to be a doctor. But if it was a woman in any of the villages, she probably wouldn’t have seen a doctor for a diagnosis, and she certainly wouldn’t be able to get access to the medication. The dirt tracks into the villages are hilly and pot-holed and pretty treacherous. Someone who is sick could never walk that far to get their own medication, and they certainly wouldn’t be able to afford to take a boda or pay someone else to go and collect it for them.

So… once Dickson DOES arrive, we are heading to Jinja… because in the morning, we are doing a running event along the Nile River! He is doing a 10km race and I will be attempting to do 21km. My training hasn’t been so great as I don’t feel very comfortable running by myself, and when I do find a Ugandan to run with me on the very rare occasion… they spend most of the run, walking. People don’t really run here. They just walk, and walk, and walk and walk. Apparently the only reason a Ugandan would run, is if they are chasing a matatu, chasing a thief, running away cause they stole something, or running from the tax man. Also, I have to keep running in dripping wet sneakers! The ladies who come to help at the house are always horrified at how dirty my shoes are and keep washing them in their water basins. They are very clean and the laces are whiter than ever. But they are always so wet! Makes me laugh how they keep stealing my shoes to clean and I can never find them!

But even if I have to walk, it should be pretty awesome. It starts at the source of the Nile River and then I’m not really sure where it goes. Very disorganized! They put posters up everywhere, but then there were only a few places you could register, and I had to go to Jinja last weekend just to put my name down. Then after running around all day trying to find the guy who takes the registrations (he kept moving locations) I finally find him… and he tells me registrations had closed. He said they put an announcement on the radio to say they had closed?? But there was no deadline date on the poster. So they took my money and said I needed to come and pick up my registration kit during the week. There is no map on the poster to say where the start line is, and the website on the poster doesn’t actually exist. So it should be an interesting morning!!

Hope all is well.  And thanks to everyone for your emails! Please keep sending them. I love hearing about what is happening at home.

Lots of love,

Amy.

Elephant Tears

Hello loved ones...

Firstly: HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY to all the mothers, grandmothers and Aunts, and also to those who celebrated their mothers today (yesterday in Australia!). 

Secondly: Apologies for not writing for a week or so... we have had a group of about five volunteers working with us to build a health clinic and it all became very busy! Two of them were from Australia -- a man named Ralph who lives in Melbourne, and a Kiwi called Selma who lives in Sydney. Selma and I have similar working backgrounds and are about the same age, so we really bonded. We even made some Anzac biscuits... was just like being in the trenches together... only that the battle zone was Doreen's kitchen and our weapons of massive destruction (the 'golden syrup' wasn't much like golden syrup and the whole thing turned into something resembling more of a crumble, which we named 'Ugzac' ) were wooden spoons and wonky cake tins. Am missing Selma a lot, but I think she is missing us more. She is in London and supposed to go back to Sydney in the next few weeks but I am hoping she will come back here instead! Ralph was also just gorgeous. We worked really well together and plan to continue to work together on YOFAFO projects. 

Thirdly: A special thankyou to everyone who contributed in any way to my idea about the Mother's Day gift for the micro-finance program. I was overwhelmed by how many people chose to give the gift of a loan, and also by all the feedback. If anyone has any further suggestions, I would be only too happy to hear them. Next year, we will run it in a more public way, hopefully via a website called Global Giving. I gave the money to Doreen for Mother's Day and she was flabbergasted. I didn't realise she hadn't been able to sign anyone new up for a while. So it was very exciting and she said the donations can change the life of seven women! To all those who donated or received a gift... keep an eye out in your email inboxes and letter boxes over the next few months!

So, in the spirit of Mother's Day, I thought I'd share a bit of 'women's business' with you all :)

Mother's Day is not something that is really celebrated in Uganda. People might just greet each other at church or send their mothers a text message. But Erin (the other volunteer who is here at the moment) and I thought we'd treat Doreen this year. It was really special to watch, because as we made the suggestion to Valence he got right behind the idea. He insisted Doreen not be allowed to cook for the night, drove us to Jinja so we could take her to dinner, and decided he wouldn't join us so we could have some 'girl' time without him taking over the conversation with YOFAFO business. As we spent the day appreciating Doreen, it was so lovely to see Valence do the same... telling her how amazing she is and how much he loves her. They really have the most loving and supportive relationship - something which seems to be very scarce...

Apparently many men have more than one wife. Doreen said the men sometimes have a few wives in secret, and it all comes out at his burial, when all of his children turn up. Erin said she knew of one man who had 100 siblings -- same father, different mothers! Other men are quite open with their wives about it and have three - all living in different rooms. Others just have one main wife, and then bring others home. They will call wife number one and say "Tonight, we are two. Cook the dinner for us, and make the bed and then tonight you will sleep on the couch". So she will make his dinner and then move to the couch for the night, while he sleeps with another woman in their bed. We have assured Doreen that if Valence ever did anything like this, there will be people from all over the world who will come and lynch him! The same rules about cheating don't seem to apply to women though. I went for a swim with Doreen's brother Dickson on the weekend - just as friends - and Doreen said I had better be careful. I asked her what she meant, and she said I needed to be wary of what his girlfriend might think of us spending time together. She said since women are so desperate to pin a good man down and marry them, a girl to come and pour acid on another girl if she becomes jealous!! She was making a joke to some extent, but I promised to look out for a crazy-eyed girl stampeding towards me with acid. Thankfully for my safety, I am apparently not very attractive to Ugandan men because my bum isn't big enough. In Uganda, it is a compliment if someone tells you you are looking 'fat'. Instead of being stick thin, the mannequins here have ridiculously oversized hips. And in some parts of the country, they lock women up for two weeks before their weddings and feed them lots of food so they can look nice and fat on their wedding day! After hearing these stories, imagine me trying to explain to Ugandans about how many young girls in Australia have eating disorders? It certainly makes you think about how the ideals about beauty are so subjective and are really just about what we have drummed into us from external sources. 

Dinner was a good chance to ask Doreen about her pregnancies with Jo and Beth. Sometimes it is easy to forget to ask the most simple questions, just because we think we already know the answer to them. I guess the wonderful thing about being in another country is that even asking someone's name can produce a fascinating story. Which is what happened tonight. 

According to Doreen, Jo decided he wanted to come out legs first and with his umbilical cord around his neck. She said she was so lucky she was in town and had gone to the hospital in time, because if she was in one of the villages (80 per cent of people live in rural villages), she and Jo would have died. Many women just help each other give birth at home, because there is no transport into town. Doreen said one of her Aunts has delivered two of her own babies. She just sat on the floor and pushed, and then pulled it out of her own body! For Doreen, things were a little easier because she was very familiar with the staff at the hospital because her father works there as a radiographer. But she still had to prepare. When you are going to give birth in hospital in Uganda, you must pack a few things to take with you. Doreen made it sound like she was going on a family picnic as she described how she would pack six plastic sheets to give birth on, a dozen surgical gloves to help pull the baby out with, painkillers to numb the agony, razor blades to cut the umbilical cord and syringes for anything they might want to inject in you. It is likely the hospital won't have any of these things, and they won't deliver your baby unless you have them with you. If you don't have them with you, they will buy them for you from someone who sells them at a very expensive price at the hospital. And then they will give you the bill, and they won't sign your discharge papers until you pay the bill. As there are guards with rifles at the gates to the hospital, it's very difficult to leave without the signed discharge papers. 

Doreen had to have a caesarian with Jo. But she was much more organised the second time around. Valence missed the birth of Beth - but not through any fault of his own. When Doreen was in hospital in labour with Jo, Valence brought family with him to "calm his nerves". And not just a couple of close siblings. He literally almost brought the whole family to witness watching Doreen in labour - including children! She was determined not to let this happen again. So, when she started to feel contractions coming on, she waited until Valence was asleep to start packing her plastic sheets and razor blades. She boiled a big thermos of tea, packed some sugar and was ready to go. When she thought it was getting close enough, she woke Valence up and told him she thought there was a bit of a problem and he should probably take her to hospital. When he questioned why she was taking all of the birthing things she told him that since her due date was so close she thought she had better pack them just in case. She explained they would probably just keep her in the hospital until she had the baby. They were arguing all the way to the maternity ward as he couldn't understand why she was taking the things. She told him that she had to pack them or they might not let her in to the hospital, or might make her pay for the expensive ones. When they arrived at the maternity ward she had a win, because they wanted to see her pregnancy pack. She told Valence to go back to work and that she'd keep him posted on what the doctor said. He agreed to go away, but called her two hours later. Doreen was well on her way into labour by this stage, but held it together and told him nothing was happening. She text him 30 minutes later to say she had given birth to Beth. Doreen said she is still embarrassed to go to the ward because she knows all the nurses and staff there and she knows she was abusing them so much. They were all laughing at her as they weren't used to her being so aggressive. She was trying to convince them all she needed to go into theatre (she didn't want to push Beth out) but they said she would have to push. She told them all it would be their fault if Beth died! She was screaming that she didn't know how to push, and then they told her how. In Doreen's words: "If that nurse hadn't been there ready, Beth would have flown over her feet. I gave one big push, and 'WHOOP', she just went flying out. She landed on the bed with a 'BUMP!', and I said 'Has her head been mashed in?!'. She just flew out of there so fast, and my belly went 'BOOP!' down like this. It was big, and then it was gone. I really think if that nurse wasn't ready Beth would have hit the wall and her head would have landed on the floor."

In conclusion. If I ever have babies....I'm coming home!

What is probably more astounding, is that people in the villages - who comprise most of the voters - don't seem to have to issues with this kind of health system. Dickson said if a woman in one of the villages died giving childbirth because the ambulance didn't get there for a few hours, people would not be angry with the government and the state of health care. They would not blame a health minister. They would just say: "Oh, if only it hadn't rained, maybe that ambulance might have been able to make it through that jungle."  Similarly, if they can no longer afford soap and don't have any for a couple of weeks, they don't complain about wages and a lack of earning potential. They just think: "Oh well, we will have to go without the soap for now". On one hand, this is reflective of a nation of positive thinkers and gratefulness. On the other hand, it is symptomatic of a nation which is uninformed about their human rights.

Continuing with the theme of women, Mother's Day was preceded on Friday night by a dramatic poetry performance called 'Cut Off My Tongue'. The title of the performance is also the title of a book of poetry from Kenyan poet Sitawa Namwalie, who writes about land, tribe, identity and relationships. Although her writing puts a deeply passionate, unpretentious, candid and witty poetic voice to Kenyan history and politics, her themes and stories are universally relevant. Sitawa studied botany and zoology at university, represented Kenya in tennis and hockey and worked in development for many years before embarking on further study and then finding a voice as a poet. It was amazing to meet her and some other female African writers while I was there -- they were so welcoming and invited me to come along to their writer's club. The club is hosted by FEMRITE, which is an indigenous NGO founded in 1995 to promote women writing in Uganda, as their was a general absence of female writers and therefore female perspectives in literary and cultural heritage.

Here is one of her poems.

SKY LEAKING ELEPHANTS

It rained last night.

No, not like that,

The meek pissing of a man grown old: drip, drip...

This was a tropical storm,

Sky leaking elephants,

Angry torrents of urgency,

From nowhere a dramatic surprising deluge.

It rained last night.

No, it's not what you're thinking...

A placid hushing monotone,

The preaching of a pious monk.

Tropical rain crashed down,

Drops the size of ripe mangoes

Rocked sense right into my head, bang, bang!

It rained last night.

It hasn't rained in a while

Not like this, a tropical torrent

Soaking parched, thirsting ground right through

Emptying floods of gushing water

That threatened to free me

From my moorings, wah, wah!

It rained and rained

And rained last night,

Just on time.

A tropical tempest releasing life, whoosh, whoosh!

Knocking tendrils of grass awake.

Hastily they started to grow

Glistening upwards

Like small green snakes

Lots more to tell about too many things... but won't overload you for now :)

Much love,

Amy xox

Care Package

Dear Mum (and anyone else out there who is listening),




Please go on an Amazing Race to complete my 'Care Package' list!

If you are able to send the following... That would be awesome! But only what you can fit into an affordable package. Camera stuff is probably most important. Let me know if you need me to transfer some money into your account.

- Allen's snakes or Natural Confectionery snakes
- Garden seeds for Doreen's vege and herb garden (and so I can eat something other than rice, posho, plantain and beans)
- Hair colour
- Anti-breakage hair serum (this is actually for Doreen)
- Facial wax pen... Eleanor is going to look at photos of my eyebrows and have a freak out if I don't do something soon.
- SDHC Camera card. Mum... you can go to Camera House (Ramsay's??) or Camera World or Harvey Norman and tell them it is for a Canon Legria HG21 so must be a series 4 or 6...NOT 10 (these are references to speed). A 16g or 32g would be best if it doesn't cost you too much. I can put some money in your account
- Camera battery. I have one there somewhere but not sure where exactly... You need to go to Battery World and they may need to order it in as I don't think they would stock this battery anymore. I will email you soon with specifications.
- Any family friendly movies -- ie. Finding Nemo, Red Dog, Summer Coda...


LOVE
Xxx

Mother's Day

Hello all :)

Just a quick email (that in retrospect, has actually become quite long...) in advance of Mother's Day. This year I am giving Mum something special from Uganda and thought I'd let you know about it in case you are stuck for a gift idea for your mothers or grandmothers! But please do not feel any pressure or obligation to participate, it is just something I thought I'd share. I am also looking for some feedback on the idea, as it is something I thought YOFAFO could run as a fundraising campaign next year.

Each year at Christmas, organisations such as OXFAM pitch campaigns such as 'OXFAM Unwrapped', whereby people purchase things like goats or chickens for their loved ones. These animals are then given to people in communities in developing countries. After seeing the impact one cow can really make, I can vouch for the fact this really does make a difference!

In a bit of a Mother's Day twist I thought I'd send Mum a gift which will hopefully change the life of a woman in Uganda, and also the lives of her children.

I have already emailed you a little information about YOFAFO's micro-finance program, but here is a rehash. YOFAFO currently has 120 women on their books for the micro-finance program, and many others who would love to join and are waiting until YOFAFO receives some more funding from the heavens! The program has been running for about four years and has been a huge success. Women are first assessed on their ability to manage their money and make repayments, and are provided some education about money management. They are then placed in groups of five, with each member of the group guaranteeing the others. Combined with the nature of the tight-knit community and the leadership provided by its women, it has been very rare for a loan repayment not to be made. And in most cases where the repayments haven't been made on time, YOFAFO has eventually been able to recover the money. YOFAFO charges 3 per cent compounding interest on the loans, with those profits injected back into the program. The interest charged pays for stationery and a very small wage (stipends) for the community volunteers who give their time every week at the 'community bank' where they provide education, receive and process applications, do the paperwork for the loan repayments etc.

Without programs like this, women in Uganda would not be able to secure any type of loan. Women cannot be granted a loan from the bank unless they have the colateral of a husband or father. Most women in the villages where YOFAFO works lose their fathers when they are children, meaning they really rely on the colateral of a husband. The women who make up the 120 people on YOFAFO's micro-finance books are those who have lost their husbands (in which case the husband's family usually comes and takes everything and leaves the woman with nothing), who have had children out of wedlock, who haven't yet married, whose husbands have left them for someone else and taken everything with them, and also some young entrepeneurs. 

At first, many men in the community were reluctant about the program and were unhappy about women having their own independence. Some women have had to continue with the program in secret so as their husbands don't take the money from them. But attitudes are changing, as YOFAFO is also providing education to men about the importance of women having a strong sense of self-esteem, of being empowered and independent. They educate the men about how a woman's financial independence and programs such as this can benefit the entire family. They can now see that it not only improves the family's financial position and health status, but also provides role-modelling for their children.

Initial loans start at 100,000 Ugandan schillings, which is the equivalent of about $50. This is enough for a woman to start her own business and completely change her life.

Small businesses have included fruit and vegetable stalls, second-hand clothes sales, tailoring and the hire of boda bodas. The income the women generate means they can afford better food for their families, some school supplies and clothes for their children, soap for washing clothes etc..  Some women have even been able to build a new room for their 'house' so they don't have six children, four chickens and one grandmother sleeping and living in the kitchen.

This Mother's Day, I am giving my Mum a loan of $50, which will go to a woman in the village of Bulimaji, near Lugazi. I will ask Doreen to help me follow what happens with this loan and connect Mum with the woman who receives it. Mum will receive a small surprise gift from Bulimaji in the mail. Next year, YOFAFO is considering offering packages whereby people can donate any amount they like, but $50 will mean they receive a photo story about the woman who receives it, and $150 will mean they receive a small film about the woman.

If anyone else likes this idea, knows of anyone else who might, or has some feedback on it I would love to hear from you. Again, please do not feel any obligation -- it's my trial run of the idea and also a bit of a Mother's Day surprise for Doreen. Doreen is Valence's wife and as well as running the micro-finance program, she is also an amazing mother and has been doing a wonderful job of looking after myself and all the other volunteers who have come and gone over the years :)

An early Happy Mother's Day to you all!

Love,

Amy xoxo